egg white pedals
and
mustard yellow eyes
following
the
light of the sun
where
the
lilies of the field
tippytoe
one by one
to
serve
the
will of God
in
the
golden time of day
She kneaded and rolled it past midnight
precisely added egg-white
Yet she still didn’t get the recipe right
‘til she mixed love in with daylight
transparency
egg white runs down clear glass bowl....
dew 'pon daylilies
Six ice cream bananas
Skin removed and center hollowed out
In a bowl mix 1 cup of rolled oats
1/2 teaspoon of honey
*4 table spoons of Brown sugar
2 tablespoon of rum
1/2 cups. Of mashed banana
1/4 cup of shredded coconut
1 tablespoon of vanilla
1/2 cups of cream cheese
1 egg yolk
2 cups of banana
Pipe into hollowed center
Wrap banana with a filling dough
To cover end to end
Top with egg white and sugar
Sprinkle toasted pistachio nuts on top
Bake until golden. Brown
Serve with vanilla ice cream and
Caremel topping and whipped cream
Strawberries and Carmel!
I am still contented
I gaze at your sun
crack the yolk
you're no so egg white
my instincts demoted
the peaceful ones may stop the war
the one i am indifferent to
It does not grow in the ground
in a bush, on a tree
No animal's beheaded
Or fish netted
It's seldom shredded
Makes a perfect meal
prepared as requested
Symbol of life in the world
Yolk inside egg-white ~ mysteries swirl
The color of my eyes brown;
The color of the soil beneath my feet, brown;
The color of my skin tan-medium brown;
~
The color of my spirit soul
Is silver and gold
~
The color of my heart beet-red (beats red)
The color of my brain is egg-white tan
The color of my God-
Everything!!!
7/7/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
After the sun bleeds
colors into the sky white
stars are scattered like
diamonds thrown across
the violet black. The night seeps
into edge of morning
and a thread of light spills
like churned buttery cream.
Mottled pink is brushed
against linen clouds,
inking the faded shades of night.
Wires are strung above
their houses, their tops
frosted slate. The snow, burning,
is like the artic
methane on Pluto.
Ripples of opaque crystal
are created by solar winds.
On which glass white shines,
a tin hued surface like plastic
sewn on egg-white
costume dresses, gems
under strobelights on stage, dancing.
Wings, dust colored; soft
like the thick darkness
receding into the brewed,
aeged morning. Beating.
Why do you look upon me with reproach,
two-eyed fried eggs? I swear, only hunger
and hopelessness have led me to encroach
into the kitchen. The quite pushy monger,
who sold me a used cornucopia
from China, promised me a Peking duck.
Alas, a mustard and a cowpea are
all what drops out if to say “potluck!”
according to instructions… My onlooker,
my oversalted prayer, my lone prey,
my bitter daily bread, forgive the cooker,
whose wife not long ago passed away.
A sleeplessness, a heartburn, an egg white
in frying pan, an endlessly long night.
30/07/2019
Cornucopia Cooking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
A short brief about the modern day censor,
Withholding what we can and can’t read,
Withholding what was once considered free speech,
Before the censor was let out and freed.
Like in the new poems on this poetry site,
We can’t type GET --------, or ------- YOU,
YOU ------, ----- IT, or ----OFF, because
We’ve been told these words are taboo.
This makes me wonder what words will be next,
What words will we be told to fear,
What words will the censor remove from our tongue,
What words will soon disappear.
Maybe the words that’d better watch out are,
William Shatner! Mango! Egg white!
I think the censor wants to remove these words,
Thinking we’ll all sleep better at night.
we are the egg they are the knife
the egg shell
like the body
the egg white albumen
like the spirit
the egg yolk like the soul
all others lies in between
so is the connection of humans
to the universe through spirituality
and beyond
is a pity now
we live in a world
where intelligent humans
punish the body
with there knives of
inflation depression panic
and brutality
it affects the weak
and destroy there
true spirit to confusion
the knives of our
officials cut out
our zeal of being
to a destruction
of a hard repair
when it hits
the soul
like to the
egg yolks
we realise
they are nothing
but empty liers
Emptiness
(Childrens song / lyrics and music by Joan Donnelly Ellis )
When a thing is empty it is not much good at all
.
What good is a baseball diamond with neither bat nor ball?
What worth a hat without a head? A house without some folk?
How foolish a shell with no egg white or yellow yolk?
Can you find any use for a well without water,
Or a quill that has no ink ...Well
What good is a hockey arena with no skating rink.
Can you explain the purpose of a book void of pictures and word?
How unfun a bell without a ringer? Seems to me absurd.
How dull Summer without rainfall and sunshine, Winter without snow?
Would a tree be lonely with neither squirrels nor birds that caw like the crow?
Fancy a yard without soft green grass to delight the barefeet
A pie shell without pie filling could hardly be called a treat.
What would you think if the sky held no sun,no moon, no color, no rain, no star?
Now I do not want to upset you but what if narry a crumb could be found in Nana's cookie jar?
How could you dance if there was no music in the radio or jukebox
The only empty thing that's worth anything and loads of fun, I daresay is an empty box.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones,
tinkling icicles which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed,
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
Tinkling icicles, which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms,
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
the ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms
too soon the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day
The ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed.
Too soon, the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones?
First appeared in Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review Winter 2014
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones,
tinkling icicles which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed,
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
Tinkling icicles, which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms,
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white,
the ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms
too soon the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day
The ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed.
Too soon, the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones?
First Published in Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review January 2014
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
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